


(You Are) Written In The Scars of My Heart

by you_me_and_obsession



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Bear deserves all the love in the universe, First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Sam Wilson, POV Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a perceptive bro, Steve Rogers Feels, and Steve's the one for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:30:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_me_and_obsession/pseuds/you_me_and_obsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Somehow, this Bucky Barnes feels closer to the one in the cards he used to buy with his breakfast pennies as a kid, maybe even closer than the bright-eyed man with a brilliant smile in the Smithsonian. This is James Bucky Barnes, shredded to the nano fibres, stripped of everything but this... this love, at the very core of him. Just what did he have to go through, what did he have to give, to keep it intact, safe and almost sound like this, wrapped up carefully like a treasure in his heart to survive and transcend seven decades of blood. Sam almost doesn't want to know.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(You Are) Written In The Scars of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My first Stucky fic ever. I've written before, but not about this pairing. There's so much daydreaming and night-angsting amongst everything that leads up to this fic. Intended as a simple fix-it fic for that kissing scene in Civil War, but it turns out a bit more, and I've enjoyed writing it. I hope I do my imagination justice.  
> Lyrics from Breaking Benjamin's [Close To Heaven](https://www.google.com.vn/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiI1d24wIzOAhWGmZQKHS4nBJcQ3ywIGzAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJ3ZRI6mM3sU&usg=AFQjCNFe3qmhO2ZTR3x0KoGPglxk-5LySA&sig2=7L_EI5-XgGJqhedGBk3n8A).  
> Title from P!nk's song Just Give Me A Reason, obviously, but this fic has nothing to do with it. I'm just in love with that phrase is all.

 

 ** _So I'll stay unforgiven_**  
_**And I'll keep love together**_  
_**And I'll be yours forever**_  
_**I'll sleep close to Heaven**_

Sam looks on at the scene, slightly amused. In the middle of all this craziness, with their heads wanted on a fucking plate, who would have thought? And, of course, Carter too. "Should've guessed, huh?", he huffs, half turning, expecting the same mischievous and knowing glint in the eyes of the man behind, only to be greeted with silence. He watches Barnes carefully. He was facing the window, eyes unseen, lashes and a few bangs falling over them, but his jaw was a taut line. Sam could see the tight pull of the muscles in the hollow of his cheeks, and the veins in his throat. He tenses almost instantly, prepared for... well, anything, pretty much the worst, considering the bruises that have formed within the past few hours all over all of their bodies.

"Barnes?", he tests cautiously, "Are you okay?".

For a second too long, Bucky doesn't respond. But then he croaks, "Yeah. I'm fine.", and suddenly Sam sees the way he's holding himself. His chin is almost tucked behind the collar of his jacket, his shoulders slumped and his arms... He's holding onto his elbows, much likely unconsciously, fingertips digging into fabric, flesh and metal. His face is paler than the last time Sam looked, and his lips are an unhappy curve. This is not an aggressive posture, it's distress. As Sam wonders why, he feels something slip before he could place his finger on it. 

"You sure?", he tries. 

"Yeah", it comes out so quiet it startles Sam for a moment. He half expected Barnes telling him, at best, to leave it alone, or, to fuck the hell off, something, not this single word, sounding so small. He contemplates not leaving it alone, but he catches Barnes looking up, smiling, not the smile he'd expected to find. Something sweet, a gentle glint of knowing. And genuine, happy. _Affectionate. Content_ , impossible as it is for this man _._  But  _his eyes are so wet and too dry._ Sam's eyebrows might just disappear, but then he sees Steve approaching the driver's door, a slight smile on his own face, his girl already gone. He gives him a teasing smile, but finds himself distracted from enjoying the sight of Steve rolling his eyes; he feels his smile falter _._ In the mirror, Bucky's doesn't. 

 

They take turn driving; there's not enough time to waste. It's midnight now and not even Steve's stamina can go so long after all the punching and jumping off second stories and crashing cars without some sleep. He's cramped into the backseat half his size, breathing softly in a fitful sleep. That leads Sam to mildly wondering how _Bucky_  is leaning against the scratched and blurred glass with empty, not _closed,_ eyes. He's been quiet the whole drive, only answered when Steve asked, or when he said something Bucky knew he was supposed to respond to, every single time with a small smile meant as reassurance. Now his eyes are kept mostly on the bottom edge of the window, his chin propped up against his knuckles, one hand on his tattered jeans' knee, and Sam wonders _how._ How has he gone on, separated from Steve? How long? How much? How-

"How're you holding up there?"

"What do you think I'm holding up here?", Bucky asks after a beat. His voice is quiet, too soft, Sam notices for the first time how soft, and he feels a bit like struggling as he listens to that voice and avoids looking into that face. Somehow, this Bucky Barnes feels closer to the one in the cards he used to buy with his breakfast pennies as a kid, maybe even closer than the bright-eyed man with a brilliant smile in the Smithsonian. This is James Bucky Barnes, shredded to the nano fibres, stripped of everything but this... this love, at the very core of him. Just what did he have to go through, what did he have to give, to keep it intact, safe and almost sound like this, wrapped up carefully like a treasure in his heart to survive and transcend seven decades of blood. Sam almost doesn't want to know. 

"How long, James? Just how long?", Sam finds himself whispering. The ability of bearing the truth behind that question is just as faint as the breaths that come out Bucky's lips. 

"Leave it", he says it like a command. 

"Are you ever gonna tell him?"

A breathy self-deprecating chuckle that morphs nearly into an ugly sob towards the end. 

"You only say stuff like that to people when there's actually _hope_ , Wilson".

What does one say to that? Sam swears he could hear something breaking.

"Bucky-", the name rolls surprisingly easy off his tongue now that he finally gets to it, but he absentmindedly wishes he hadn't start this first name basis while discussing heartbreaks.

" _Sam_ ". Bucky cuts him off, and the use of his first name startles Sam enough that he risks taking his eyes off the road for a second and turns to the man beside him. His head's hung low, and there's the curtain of hair again, this time shrouding his face, long dark tresses sticking together, the river still visible in them. A crystalline drop rolls down his cheek, passing the place where he's clenching his teeth and biting his lip hard enough his jaw might break, sweeping and dissolving with it a red smear. The pink drop hits his wrist in silence. It's not the only one.

"Leave it _. Please._ "

A plead. A confession. A confidence.

Sam complies wordlessly, and if his hands grip the wheel any more tightly, Bucky doesn't need to know that.

 

In the backseat, Steve hears his heart tremble in convulsion, and as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, he desperately wants to know why. What, and how.

 

\---

 

The silence is deafening around them now that the punches are over. There's no sounds, not even the engines, not even their breaths.

"What's gonna happen to your friends?"

Bucky's voice is like gentle cracks in ice when he speaks, and Steve feels cold all over. He can hear the slight frown, the distress, the battling insecurity and guilt in huge blue eyes. He sighs and the loudness of it almost feels as cold as the blackness that hit him the moment he hit it, in the ice. He feels his lips trembling with unspoken words and his mind falters. 

"Whatever it is, I'll deal with it"

He can almost hear the steel he intended for his voice. Almost. But he believes in it, and he wishes Bucky could, too.

"I don't know if I'm worth all of this, Steve"

Even tone, and he can hear the hard ripple-less surface. The cracks grow, spread, run wild all over his body, his being, his heart, ripping shakes from the tips of his fingers and he's gripping the control panel so hard that they might crash. He's in such a painful hurry to shoot up and whip around that they might crash. Slowly, shivering, Steve breathes through his mouth, tiny flows of unwarmed air around them that will never be enough. He puts the plane on auto-pilot and clutches the chair as he stands.

Bucky looks up and at Steve, his lips slightly parted, his face worn out for the thousandth time, and Steve can't stand the empty resignation from believing on his face.

"Don't say that", Steve almost grinds out, "Don't you dare".

Bucky just sits there, clutching his rifle still, staring at him, and there's no movement, there's no sound, there's no expression there's no change not an inch of muscle pulled but there's some breaking in his irises and there's  _wetness_  and oh _God_.

He holds Bucky's face in his hands, now big enough for a thumb on either cheekbone and four digits behind his ear. 

"Don't you dare"

Bucky's breaths go ragged.

"You're worth all of it and more"

Bucky turns away. 

"And look at me while I say this."

Steve turns Bucky's face back, forcing him gently, and a sob escapes his lips, and another, and another. Steve holds him still, would wipe his tears away, but they don't fall. They don't fall.

Until they do and

"Don't.", he breathes. He's wheezing, crying and he can't stop, and the cracked ice stabs and twists in Steve's chest. "Don't say these things. Don't do this"

"Don't do _what_ , Buck?", Steve asks, devastated.

" _This_ ", Bucky whines and sobs and spits out. His fingers grip Steve's wrist to the point where it might break, running up and down his exposed skin, clutching and releasing, fitting themselves in between Steve's. Tender and erratic, quiet sobs in violence as he closes his eyes and turns his head, as if he can't decide whether he should let Steve go or cling on for dear existence, whether he should be leaning into Steve's touch or-

 _Oh_.

 _Oh_.

"Bucky"

Steve moves an arm around his shoulders and the other's cradling his face. He brushes away some of the bloodstained hair and strokes his face, long and certain soothing strokes. 

" _Bucky_ "

He's never been so desperate in his life. Not like this.

"Open your eyes"

Bucky doesn't, but it won't matter in a few seconds.

"Open your eyes and look at me. See that I mean this when I do it."

And Steve closes his eyes. The perfection is everything he's ever imagined it to be when his lips come crashing down on Bucky's. Endless nights of winter and summer, the lost years in icy oblivion and bloodbaths, and too many lonely nights with only the walls blurring behind his tears and the dog tags lying cold and lifeless against his chest. All his life. Into this one kiss so overdue. Bucky makes a shaky sound and falls those few inches to the floor, and Steve catches him, hand on his nape and his waist, on his back, on his face. They move sweetly, lips between each other's, their first kiss perfect and painful, seasoned by the taste of tears and the smell of blood. And love.

When Steve opens his eyes, Bucky's never closed. And Steve wipes his tears away, pushes and pulls until Bucky is buried in the crook of his neck, against his shoulder, into his chest, in his arms. He rests his temple against Bucky's, cards his fingers through thick hair and stays like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence a perfect cocoon around them, warming and airy, wrapping them in like the thin cobble blankets full of patches seventy years ago. Their stubble and hair rubs against the scratches on their faces, soaking again as they bleed anew. They hold each other by the waist, by their collars, as they tumble to the floor and Steve leans them both against the wall. Bucky clutches him still, fingers curled tight in the fabric of his uniform, and there's the insecure minute shiver pouring from them that makes Steve's heart pull in on itself. Memories in images and lifelong years that can't be put into ones all collapse and crash around him, threatening to  _tear_ , so he clutches right back, tightens his arms around Bucky, holds on for dear  _life_.

"What about Sharon", Bucky whispers into his chest after so long, and Steve kisses the top of his head, because he thinks he  _can_  now.

"What about Dorothy?", he huffs, a little exasperated. Just a little. "And Annie?".

Bucky makes a bewildered sound.

"And Karen?"

A disbelieving huff.

"Charlotte? Ali?"

"You mean jerk", Bucky groans, or grunts, burying his face further against Steve.

"Not really my area, Buck. Both"

"Never thought you were the type, Steve", Bucky laughs, a little nervous, uncertainty slipping back into his voice.

"I'm not", Steve sighs, " _She_  kissed me. It's just, she helped, and without it I might not've been able to come to you in time, you know, so... I just..."

"Gave her what she wanted?"

"Yeah", he sighs again. "She's not- It's not- It could never be like you, you know?". He hears his own voice slightly break, and Bucky's breath catches. "Nothing ever could", he whispers, absolute, convincing,  _loving_ , devoted. His grip tightens one more time. Bucky doesn't speak, but Steve can hear his breaths, loud and clear as their fingers find each other's.

"Will you say that again sometime?", Bucky says after a while, trying for a small smile.

"I'll say it every time", he promises, and Bucky nods.

"What's going to happen to your friends, though?", his asks softly.

"Worth it all, remember?", he kisses Bucky's temple.

"It's just... It's not fair for them to be dragged into this mess"

"I wonder if anything ever is", Steve sighs, "but you didn't drag them in. They came, and I wish they hadn't had to, but they did, and they knew the consequences and they also knew what they were fighting for, and it's not just you, it's what they believe in."

He untangles himself from Bucky, takes his hands and stares into his eyes. He needs to, with what he's going to say next. Blue eyes gaze back at him, never more beautiful and uncertain, but his fingers wrap themselves around Steve's. And so he finds enough confidence, enough courage, that this would be  _enough_ , and says,

"And you need to stop staring at the blood on your hands. It might be on your hand, but it's not on your head, Buck."

Bucky swallows, hard, looks away from Steve, and Steve waits, until he turns back, lips trembling and eyes wet, but with a whisper, "I'll need you to remind me of that".

"I will", he promises, again, "I will". 

This time, Bucky closes his eyes, and Steve runs his fingers along the long lashes as he kisses him again, sweet, deep enough to drown him until he's drown in nothing but Steve himself, hard enough to swallow all the screams in the bloodbaths, all the regrets that wake Steve up in the middle of the night, all the horrors every time the freeze went wrong, all the pain every time Steve was ripped from his mind, and all the unspoken confessions from another lifetime.

"I love you", Steve chokes. The first tear defrosted from the ice runs down to their lips. The first time he comes out of the ice.


End file.
